The Warmth of a Cigarette
by Tired TM
Summary: The Little Match Girl AU, featuring Stan. Warning: Major Character Death
1. Chapter 1

_Damn it, it's too fucking cold…_ Stanley thought as he stumbled his way through the streets.

The wind howled around him, whipping the falling snow into his face. He could barely see in front of him, and each step was more difficult to take.

 _I have to find shelter._ Stanley could only shake as he pulled his thin windbreaker close to him, hoping that it would provide some measure of warmth. It didn't, so Stanley sighed and trudged on. Occasionally, someone brushed against him, not bothering to pause or apologize while he stumbled. He had lost all feeling in his feet long ago, the holes in his shoes rendering them nearly useless.

Before long, Stanley found an alley, relatively sheltered from the biting wind. Rapidly losing the strength to stand, Stanley collapsed, landing heavily on his butt in the snow. Instead of trying to get back up, he simply huddled against the brick wall of the alley, flipping up the collar of his thin jacket and burying his hands in his armpits, desperate for any warmth.

"Guess this'll have to do." he whispered into the cold air, his words forming steam in the icy air.

 _I sure wish I still had the Stanmobile… at least I'd be out of the snow…_

Stan took his hands out of his armpits, fumbling through his pockets for matches and a box of cigarettes.

 _Damn, only 3 matches left. And 5 cigarettes._ Hands fumbling, Stan strikes a match, watching the tiny flame flare into life. Instead of lighting a cigarette, he stares into the flame, taking comfort in the warmth that it provides.

 _How pitiful am I? Finding comfort and warmth from a damn match. Heh._

Stan blinked as the match sputtered out, unable to stay lit anymore.

 _Damn it, that was a waste. Didn't even light my cig._

He fumbled with numb fingers to light another match, this time bringing it to the end of his cigarette before allowing it to burn out. Hunching over more as the wind found its way into the narrow alley, he shields the lit end of his cigarette from the gale, allowing the small amount of warmth to thaw his fingers. Despite the cold surrounding him, Stanley found himself remembering better days, days laughing and warm with his brother, Stanford. He could almost feel his Ma's embrace, and his brother's hand ruffling his hair. Snow dropping onto his head broke the illusion, extinguishing his cigarette and causing him to shiver harder. With shaking hands, he quickly relit his cigarette and allowed his fantasy to carry him away.

" _C'mon, Stanley! Ma's made cocoa!"_

 _Stan and Ford ran into the kitchen, hair ruffled and eyes bright as their Ma finished pouring a cup of steaming cocoa and put two still-warm cookies on the table. Her bright lipstick smudged onto their foreheads as she gave them a quick kiss. The two young boys started in on the homemade cookies, feeling the warmth of it melting over their tongue. It wasn't long until the cocoa was drunk and the cookies finished. Stan felt sleepy, and he couldn't hold his eyes open._

" _It's time to go, baby."_

" _Ma? Go where?"_

" _I think you know, baby. I'm sorry."_

" _It's OK, Ma."_

 _Stanley felt himself being wrapped in a warm hug, and closed his eyes to bury his face in his Mom's dress. Inhaling her cheap perfume, he felt his eyes slowly droop closed, and his body relax._

" _I love you, baby. Always have. Sleep now, I promise that you'll never be cold again."_

A burned-out cigarette fell from frozen lips, landing in the snow below. Stan's still form sat slumped as snow piled higher around him, but he couldn't feel it. Frozen tear tracks sat on a face just as cold, and breath no longer escaped him.

Indeed, he would never feel the cold again.


	2. Chapter 2

Stanford shivered against the breeze that ruffled his hair and numbed his face. While his coat was doing its job well, his legs were not protected as well and his face felt stiff with the cold.

It had been snowing for the past two days, and he had woken up this morning to a bright, cold day, the snow no longer coming down. Ford would have preferred to stay inside, but he was in desperate need of groceries and other supplies, as his work had distracted him from doing so before the storm arrived. As he trudged towards the grocery store, he spotted a commotion around a nearby alley. Ford's brows furrowed as he noticed emergency personnel in the crowd, and he made his way over to them, curious.

"Some poor sap didn't make it inside…"

"Is he okay?"

"I dunno"

"Who was he?"

"I don't recognize him."

"Must have been a drifter or somethin."

"Yeah."

Stanford felt a pang of pity for this man, and moved through the crowd to get closer. Something urged him onward. Eventually, he reached the front of the crowd, and could see the medics bustling around a still body.

"No pulse. Poor man froze to death."

"Damn."

"He looks homeless, I doubt we'll manage to get an ID."

"Forever a John Doe, huh? That's no way to die. The least we can do is give him a proper burial, once the ground thaws."

"Mhm."

The medics moved back, and Ford got a glimpse of the dead man's face… and his heart stopped.

"S-stanley?"

Both the crowd and the medics turned to look at him, shocked.

"Sir, do you know this man?"

Ford didn't answer as he stumbled forward, landing on his knees in front of his twin.

"Stan? No, nononono you can't be dead! STANLEY!"

Ford put his hands on his brother's shoulders, shaking him as he pleaded.

"Please, Please be OK! Stanley!"

"Sir, I'm sorry. He's gone."

Firm hands gripped his shoulders and lead him away from his twin. Ford fought to stay by his brother's side, but he was hauled away and brought into a small coffee shop next to the alley. A blanket was draped across his shoulders, and a small coffee was placed in front of him. He brought the blanket closer to him, and stared at his coffee blankly, tears still coursing down his face.

"Sir? What's your name?"

"Stanford Pines."

"How do you know the man in the alley?"

"He's my twin."

"Did you know he was in town?"

"No. Haven't seen him in years."

"Why?"

"Dad kicked him out at seventeen. I tried to find him when I moved out for college, but Stan was always good at hiding."

"Stan? I thought you said your name was Stan?"

"He's Stanley. I'm Stanford."

"Oh. Do you have anyone you could call to take you home?"

"My assistant, Fiddleford. But I brought the car."

"One of us will drive you, you can pick up your car later. I'm sorry for your loss."

Stanford readjusted the blanket and looked away, tears drying sticky on his face. He was guided to a patrol car and gently sat in the back. It didn't take too long to get him home, and as he stood up, Fiddleford ran out to him, concerned.

"Stanferd? What's goin on, what's wrong?"

Unable to bring himself to speak, he just drew into himself and looked down. The officer took Fiddleford aside to explain what had just happened. Stanford stood stock still until Fiddleford gently guided him into the house, murmuring gentle words to Ford. He lead Ford to the couch, and bustled around to make Ford a cup of tea. Before long, the tea was ready, and a warm cup was shoved into Ford's hands. This brought him back to the real world, and he tightened his grip on the mug, watching the liquid gently swirl and the steam slowly rise.

"I tried to find him…"

"I know, Ford. This wasn't your fault."

"How is it not?! I should have looked harder, he froze a damn MILE AWAY FROM ME-!"

"STANFORD, STOP!"

"But-"

"But nothing! There is nothing you could have done! You told me yourself, Stan was always good at hiding, even as kids. There is no way you could have found him. And you couldn't have known he was so close."

"Fiddleford, what do I do now?"

"Make arrangements. It's far too cold to bury him until spring, so you have time to process. Do you want to call the rest of your family?"

"No. But I have to."

"Drink your tea, first."

Stanford stood in front of the phone, wishing desperately that he could avoid doing this. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and reached for the phone. He dialed his parents' number with shaking hands, and held his breath while it rang.

"Pines residence, Filbrick speaking."

"H-hello Pa."

"Stanford?"

"Yeah."

"Why are you calling?"

"Stanley's dead, Pa."

"He is? How would you know?"

"He froze to death. In the town I live in. I had no clue he was here. And I would have never known if I hadn't been walking by at that time."

"Of course the slacker would die like that."

"This is YOUR fault."

"And how is that? Stanley did this to himself."

"No. He. Didn't. He made a mistake, YEARS AGO, and you kicked him out for it. Sure, I was mad at the time, but I still ended up alright. Stanley didn't. You made both of us feel like crap from the time we were kids, and at the first chance you had, you threw Stanley on his ass. You had his bag packed! Do you even care that he was your son? Would you have done the same to me if given the chance?"

"Stanford, he was only dragging you down-"

"NO! He encouraged me! He saved me from bullies! He made me feel NORMAL! And how he's dead, and it's your. Fault."

"Suit yourself. But I won't help you with anything involving Stanley."

"I wasn't asking. Put Ma on."

"Ford? Baby, what's wrong, you never call."

"Stanley's dead, Ma. He, he froze to death. In the town I live in. I didn't even know he was in town-"

"Oh, god. Baby, I-i'm so sorry. For you and Lee. Neither of you deserved this."

"Ma, I tried to find him."

"I know. I did too. He never wanted to be found. Do you need any help?"

"I need to make arrangements. But he can't be buried until spring, the ground is too frozen right now."

"I'm going to come for a visit, help you out. The least we can do is give Stanley a good send off. And I'll contact Shermie, OK? You get some rest."

"Ok, Ma."

Stanford stood on the porch, watching the breeze shift the snow on the ground. A lit cigarette glowed in the otherwise dim night, and he shivered as he brought the smoke to his lips and drew in a breath.

"Thought you were going to quit."

Fiddleford stood in the doorway, two steaming cups in his hands.

"They remind me of Stanley. Did I ever tell you about the first time I tried to smoke?"

"No. Care to share?"

"We were 17, a few months before Stan got kicked out. He had lifted a pack from a corner store, and had stashed them on the Stan O' War. We had just gotten through a big math test, so Stan figured it was a good time to try them. We both lit one, but when we tried to actually smoke them, we both coughed so hard we dropped them. Stan kept trying, but I decided it wasn't worth it."

"So how did you end up with the habit?"

"The night Stan was kicked out, I found a pack of his cigs under my desk, half-full. They reminded me of him, so I smoked it out of my window so Ma wouldn't know. I haven't stopped since."

"I guess that would make it difficult."

"Yeah."

"I made cocoa. It's cold."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"What do I do now, Fidds? I always hoped that I'd find him, alive, and that we could reconcile… but that's never going to happen."

"Live, I guess. It won't be easy. And you'll never stop missing him, he was your twin."

"Yeah."

Stanford stubbed out his cigarette and went inside with his drink. He had a long road ahead of him, but he would survive.

No matter how much it hurt.


End file.
